


Take me, I'm yours

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Incubus and Werewolf [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Complete, Consensual Sex, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Derek is a Tease, Derek to the Rescue, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Implied/Referenced Torture, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapped Stiles, Lust, M/M, Pheromones, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Series, Sheriff Stilinski Doesn't Want To Know About Incubus Mating Habits, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Stiles Loves Derek, Stiles Stilinski in Heat, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Werewolf Derek, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles still isn't sure what quite happened. One minute he was walking to his Jeep to head to Derek's for the weekend, humming under his breath as his tail swung along to the beat, and the next minute, pain exploded in the back of his head and his world went dark. Now, he's waking up, his stomach is churning, his head is thumping, and he can smell blood oozing out onto his neck. <i>Well, this is a shitty way to start his day.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me, I'm yours

Stiles still isn't sure what quite happened. One minute he was walking to his Jeep to head to Derek's for the weekend, humming under his breath as his tail swung along to the beat, and the next minute, pain exploded in the back of his head and his world went dark. Now, he's waking up, his stomach is churning, his head is thumping, and he can smell blood oozing out onto his neck. _Well, this is a shitty way to start his day_.

 

...

 

Derek is freaking out. Scott's had to go Alpha on him three times, and a fourth might be coming up if the way Derek is _still_ pacing the Stilinski's front yard is any indication. Liam and Malia are searching the yard for anything that could help, but after the first few minutes when they found Stiles' keys fallen beside his open Jeep, it doesn't seem like there's anything else of use. They can't even pick up Stiles' scent beyond the front kerb; it's like someone has wiped his scent completely from the air itself.

 

Lydia pulls up to the Stilinski residence with a screech of tyres, looking frazzled and as unkempt as anyone's ever seen her before. She ignores everyone's questions and walks right up to Derek.

 

"We need to talk."

 

"Stiles is missing, can it wait?" he snarls, and his eyes flash blue like he's about to lose control of himself, of his wolf.

 

Scott steps forward to intervene, but Lydia's heartbeat stays steady and she's not afraid of Derek at all.

 

"I'm aware he's missing, Derek, and trust me that I wouldn't be taking up your time with this if it wasn't extremely fucking important. Now you will get inside, sit down, and listen to me," Lydia says, marching him towards the Stilinski's front door.

 

Scott just watches as his former Alpha is reduced to a cowering human under Lydia's forceful nature, and goes over to help Malia and Liam search.

 

"You know those Russian texts I've been getting you to translate? The ones about vampires?"

 

"Yes, what about them?"

 

"I've been going through them, looking at corresponding texts in Archaic Latin. Just some light reading to increase the bestiary," Lydia says.

 

She keeps her voice calm but she watches Derek like a hawk as he sits across from her, his wolf pacing and demanding to be let out, to find their mate, to hunt down the ones that have taken Stiles away. She watches him like she knows just how close to the surface his wolf really is, and Derek forces himself to relax.

 

"And? What did you find?" he asks, hoping his voice doesn't sound as gruff as he thought.

 

"Stiles' impulses are governed by the moon, ever since his first shift taken coincided with a full moon, he's been shifting on the new and full moons for the past six months, right? Well, with a wolf, it's fine because the wolf just brings out the animalistic tendencies, the need to run and howl and sometimes mate," Lydia says, continuing on quickly. "But with vampires, the pull of the moon is different. They have to feed, and if they're an incubus-vampire, then they _have_ to mate. He's lucky you were there with him that first full moon, because otherwise Stiles would have been alone, and we would have found him dead the next morning."

 

Lydia gets up and starts pacing, and Derek wants to join her just to do something, to move, but he can't get his legs working.

 

"So... He would have fucked anyone?"

 

"In all probability, yes. But you have to understand that impulse, just like you have your wolf, howling and running, Stiles now has a need to drink and fuck. He would have fucked anyone, but that's what makes it so dangerous; from what he's said over the past few months, you could have actually resisted him, which actually means you're the perfect mate for him. You're able to tell him when to stop drinking and feeding, and humans don't have that sort of strength or willpower. He would have fucked and drank his way through the town if not for you, or he'd have a horde of mindless lust-crazed slaves that were completely devoted to filling his every whim. In fact, if you hadn't been there that night, Stiles could have had the entire town in the palm of his hand in a matter of weeks. But, as he's mentioned quite vocally, he's a one-wolf kind of man, and doesn't want anyone other than you. Most incubus aren't so lucky, which is why it's hard to find one up here; they prefer to dwell in the pits of hell to contain their lustful scents. At least, that's what the Latin text said, I'm still not entirely sure about the presence of a heaven or hell, it's just not physically viable with the limited resources we currently have on Earth, and if it exists on another plane of existence, then why haven't we found it yet?"

 

"You're going on a tangent, Lydia."

 

"Right. What I'm trying to say is that Stiles has chosen you as his mate, and you obviously have him as yours - don't even try to deny it, you're an overgrown puppy when it comes to Stiles - and if he doesn't get your blood or your dick by the full moon tomorrow night, he's going to lose whatever humanity he's got left, escape, and drain everything in sight."

 

"Drain blood?" Derek asks, wondering if it's really that bad if it has the chance of freeing Stiles.

 

"No, their souls; that's how the third kind of vampires are made. They can't be _turned_ into soul-draining beings, they're _made_ once they lose themselves."

 

Derek feels sick, nods, and sits down before his legs give out on him. Lydia looks sympathetic, but she doesn't put a hand on him for comfort as Stiles might have done.

 

"We'll find him, Derek," Lydia promises, though her eyes are watery with unshed tears.

 

Whether or not they find him before he's completely lost himself is another matter all together.

 

...

 

Stiles knows what going insane feels like. It's just like this, only this is worse because he can actually feel his sanity grouping together and leaking out of his mind. He needs to kiss, touch, fuck, fucking hell, he needs to fuck more than he needs to breathe, and he can't. He's been chained to a fence (seriously, what the fuck is it with the bad guys and tying people to fences?), and even his tail's been secured after it hit one of his kidnappers, and he's leaking pheromones like crazy, the day before the full moon, and he's hard as a fucking rock but can't get off. They're torturing him by not torturing him, and Stiles is so not happy right now. He'd complain to management if these kidnappers actually looked professional enough to have management. It's embarrassing that he was caught by these people, really.

 

"Hey! Can I get some water or something?" Stiles calls out, voice croaky with lust and need.

 

There's no answer, and the two men and woman that have kidnapped him barely look his way. They're not even extending him a basic courtesy, and they're rude as well as stupid.

 

"C'mon, I'm thirsty!" Stiles whines. "Please, I just want something to drink!"

 

He calls out, begging them over and over until his throat's raw, and they still haven't looked at him. After what feels like hours, Stiles finally stops calling out, slumping forward on the chains dejectedly. Obviously, the glass they're standing behind is doing more than block his pheromones, so maybe they're not so stupid after all.

 

Suddenly, there's a moan echoing throughout the room and it's not him. Stiles tilts his head back to see a speaker in the roof. Another moan, this one filled with pure unadulterated sex, and if he concentrated, Stiles would probably be able to name the porn they're playing. He's distracted though, his stomach coiling and his abs tightening as he feels his cock twitch at the sound. If they're trying to _make_ him horny, well, it's already too late for that. He's been hard this whole time, thanks to the pull of the full moon, and whatever they're trying to do just means that he was right and they really are stupid. Especially since Derek's a fucking werewolf, and kidnapping him the day before the full moon is just nigh on suicidal. _Idiots_.

 

" _Mmm, fuck. Harder,_ " the voice purrs through the speaker, making Stiles' breath hitch in his throat.

 

 _Fuck, he needs to fuck Derek so fucking bad_.

 

...

 

"I've got no fucking idea where he is, okay?! They did something, erased his scent, and _none_ of us can find him!"

 

"What about his pheromones? You've said that you can find him in a crowd because of those," the Sheriff points out, trying not to grit his teeth at the tone Derek's taking with him.

 

"Yeah, but he's _not_ in a crowd. He's been kidnapped, and they might have taken him out of Beacon Hills completely by now," Derek replies, clenching his fist in frustration.

 

"Not if they're trying to get to you or the pack; have you thought of that? Common tactic for kidnappers to take a weaker but valued member in order to get others to respond to their demands. It's why children are kidnapped more often than teenagers or adults."

 

"If they've taken Stiles somewhere, then his pheromones would be leaking out like a faucet. It's the night before the full moon, and subconsciously, he's preparing to fu... mate with you," Lydia adds, glancing at Derek and trying to avoid the Sheriff's expression.

 

"How does that help?" Derek says, and he's trying so very hard not to growl, not to turn around and _break something_.

 

"Pheromones are like scent, they permeate things, right? Well, Stiles are stronger than most people's, but with him preparing to mate, it's even stronger still. He'll probably be able to make an entire building stink of his pheromones by the end of the night."

 

" _That doesn't help,_ " Derek growls, okay, he growls because a pheromone-scented building is all they have to go on, and that's the most ridiculous thing ever because more than half the teens in Beacon County have gone hormone crazy since Stiles became an incubus, and there's no way to find him in that mess.

 

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, turns to where the map of Beacon Hills is pinned to the Sheriff's wall, and draws a circle around a particular district.

 

"If I were kidnapping someone and didn't want the police to show up at my home, then this is where I'd take them."

 

"The old warehousing district?" the Sheriff asks, frowning.

 

"It's close enough to make a deal or trade for whatever the kidnappers want from the rest of the pack; there's too many buildings for Beacon Hills' small police force to search without waiting for backup from the rest of Beacon County; it's far enough away from the town that no one will hear any screams or pleas for help; and it's easier to clean bloodstains from concrete than carpet."

 

"I... don't want to know how you know that, Lydia," the Sheriff mutters, even as Derek runs out of the office and then the building all together. "Parrish? Get a car to the old warehousing district. Take Lydia with you. Lydia, call the others on the way, okay?"

 

"Yes, Sheriff," she says, hurrying out with Parrish.

 

John sighs and heads out of the building, picking up Derek's trail of clothing that's heading towards the forest. He thanks small mercies that no one was around to see his possible future son-in-law stripping (John can see old Mrs. Gates across the road, cheeks pink; _right, no one saw a thing_ ). He's going to the warehousing district himself - there's no way he's letting Stiles stay kidnapped any longer than he already has been - but John plans on going the back way so he can stop the kidnappers from escaping. _If there's anything left of them by the time the pack are through with them, that is_ , he amends when he hears a howl from the forest. He just hopes that Lydia's right.

 

...

 

Stiles has been rutting his hips, wishing for once that he had more friction between his jeans and his cock, because he needs to get off like yesterday and he can't. These bastards have been playing porn for _hours_ , and he's been forced to listen to it, and his pheromones are going crazy and he needs to fuck something, anyone, he's actually sweating with need, but they're not letting him. He's struggled against the cuffs that have him bound to the fence so much that he's bleeding, blood dripping onto the floor, and it's not helping his need to fuck and drink. His thirst is getting worse and now, water just won't cut it. He needs blood, he needs to fuck, and right now, Stiles will fuck and drink from anyone. He knows that's bad, knows that he should be thinking of a particular person, not just any person, but he can't think, he can't think, he can't focus on anything other than the sultry moans and sounds of sex that are coming from the speaker.

 

He groans, thrusting his hips up uselessly, and Stiles can't even bring his legs together in an effort to squeeze an orgasm out. His head's tilted back so far that he can see the speaker in the ceiling again, and he can see that these assholes have planned for this. They've even gone so far as to install the speaker in the goddamn ceiling itself. He can even see a bright dot of light coming through from where the speaker's loose. Stiles blinks, tries to ignore the loud moans, and squints up at the ceiling, his breath heavy and hard in his chest. _The speaker's loose_. Now, _that_ he can work with.

 

Stiles has never tried to focus his pheromones before, has never had a need, because he always finds Derek, or he's accidentally leaking and always has to pull the whole lot in before someone tries to start masturbating in the middle of Econ and traumatises Coach or something. It takes him a few minutes - and he keeps getting distracted by the porn audio - but Stiles thinks that he manages it all right, directing the flow of pheromones up towards the ceiling, to that one point of shining light. He keeps feeding his pheromones up in that single string, higher and higher, and just hopes that someone's looking for him. _Someone he can bleed dry and fuck raw_.

 

...

 

Derek doesn't think. Lydia barely finishes explaining her theory before he's running out of the police station and stripping down (he thinks he hears a gasp from the bakery across the street, but he doesn't fucking care). He almost trips over his own feet as he begins to shift, barely in the tree line, and then loses himself completely to his wolf. They're both howling a few seconds later, and he's tearing through the forest towards the old warehouse district, running faster than he's ever run before. His paws catch on fallen branches and sticks, and he's probably left a trail of blood behind him, but Derek doesn't focus on that. Not when he might finally be able to find his mate.

 

He keeps running, hears a vehicle heading in the same direction, dismisses it when he hears Lydia and Parrish talking, and runs alongside the fence, wriggling his way underneath a lifted portion of the fence. Derek closes his eyes and sniffs, deep and long, and focusing on the entire district because _fuck boundaries_. He catches Stiles' pheromone scent. It smells off, too much of it at once, but Derek tries not to focus on that because _Stiles is here_ , and he can rescue him.

 

There's a noise behind him and he turns with a threatening growl, only to be faced with Lydia and Parrish.

 

"Is he here?" she asks, ignoring the growl.

 

Derek manages to nod the best he can while a wolf, and starts heading towards the building with Lydia following. Parrish goes back to his car, puts a call in to the Sheriff to let him know that Stiles is there, and follows after them.

 

The scent's stronger now, and he knows that Stiles is in this building. This one right here. He can practically see the pheromones leaking out of the roof, and he barely suppresses a need to howl, to let his mate know that he's arrived. Derek can hear people moaning, loud and long sounds of lust, and he's watched enough porn to know that those sounds aren't in real time. They're playing porn for Stiles, which just sounds odd to him, but it's also masking any sounds they might be making. Derek's hearing's too sensitive, and all he can hear are those moans; he can't hear people walking around or talking, and Derek takes a risk, shifting back to human. The sound of the porn cuts off, but he can talk now, and he shifts to his half-form, prepared to attack and not leaving himself completely defenceless.

 

"What's going on in there?" Parrish asks, voice soft and gaze focused squarely on Derek's face.

 

"They're playing porn. Loudly. I can't hear anything else over it," Derek admits.

 

"They're torturing him," Lydia says, eyes widening as she looks up from Derek's groin. "They're making him get all... sexed up, or whatever you've been calling it, and they're not letting him orgasm. They're either trying to make him comply, they're torturing him, or they're trying to turn him into the third kind of vampire," she murmurs, giving a slight shudder.

 

"I'm going to rip them apart," Derek snarls.

 

"Not if we beat you to it," Scott says, arriving with Kira, Liam, and Malia.

 

They've obviously heard what's going on, and look just as pissed off as Derek feels.

 

There's a shout behind them, and Liam and Malia are already running after the man before the others have even registered what's happening. The element of surprise is no longer on their side, not with the amount of shouting the man's doing, so there's nothing left to do but fight. Derek tears the iron door off its hinges, throwing it behind him as Scott heads inside with Kira by his side. Derek goes in after them, ducks as a woman lets out a shrill cry and launches herself at them, armed with a crowbar. It's not even dipped in wolfsbane, which is just insulting, really.

 

"We've got this, keep going!" Scott calls to Derek, who just nods and continues through the warehouse with Lydia and Parrish.

 

Lydia notices it first, stepping in front of Derek with a glazed expression on her face, hand stretched out towards what looks to be a black wall. Her hand comes away wet with paint, and in the smeared handprint that's left behind, Derek can see past the paint and into the glass room. Stiles is inside there, hanging against a fence with his tail tied up beside him. He can see that he's actually rocking his body back against the fence, sweat and blood dripping from him, and Derek does let a howl out then. Stiles' head snaps up at the sound, loud enough to pierce through the glass, and enough to crack the paint-splattered room. Derek helps it along with his fists, ignoring the splinters of glass against his knuckles and splitting his skin.

 

"Stiles has been leaking pheromones _all day_. That room's contained them, hasn't it? When it breaks..." Parrish trails off, looking to Lydia with wide eyes.

 

"Everyone better find a bed or soft surface," Lydia agrees, taking Parrish's hand and leading him over to the chair that's set up in front of the computer.

 

With a disgusted expression, she unplugs the computer, stopping the porn halfway through a loud moan. Parrish winces when he hears the gust of wind that blows through the hole Derek's punched through the glass. He'd offer his gun, but doesn't like the chances of the bullet actually penetrating the glass. Parrish sits on the chair, and has the decency to swivel around so his back is facing the room. He hears a low snarling growl from Derek, and rightly assumes that he's made his way into the glass room, but then Lydia's pulling at his uniform, tugging his shirt out of his pants and unbuckling his belt, wetting her lips with her soft pink tongue, her skirt already hitched around her hips and Parrish has no idea if she was wearing panties or took them off already, but then he has to hold her, to touch her, and pulls her forward against him. Lydia breathes heavily against his neck, and it's the last coherent thought he has for some time.

 

Derek feels utterly sick. He can smell Stiles' blood, his desperation, his pheromones leaking everywhere. He wants to take Stiles away from this place, take him home and make sure he's okay before they do anything, but Lydia's words are ringing in his head - the third vampires aren't made, they're created when they lose themselves - and he doesn't want Stiles to lose himself. Stiles is watching him like he's been starved, and Derek feels his heart leap in his chest. He can hear the moans of Parrish and Lydia outside of the room, and Scott and Kira further out, and hopes they'll be okay. Hell, he hopes he'll be okay. He's never seen Stiles look so out of control before.

 

"Stiles?" he says, quiet and soft, trying not to startle him.

 

"Need you. Fuck. Blood. Now. Now. Need you," Stiles groans, begs, pleads.

 

Derek closes his eyes and pretends that Stiles actually means him, isn't just saying this because he's the only one in the room, then nods firmly and moves forward. He's hardly bared his neck before Stiles has latched on, drinking and drinking and drinking. Derek can't stop him, not even long enough to get his hands unchained, and Stiles keeps on drinking until Derek feels weak. He's barely able to pull away from him, his own senses responding to Stiles eagerly, as needy and desperate for this as his mate is. Stiles whines, blood dribbling down his chin, and he licks his lips eagerly, trying to catch more drops of the liquid.

 

"Fuck now?" Stiles asks, eyes wide, and he looks a little more _there_ than he did before.

 

Derek nods briefly, moves closer to kiss Stiles' bloody mouth, groans into his mouth when Stiles ruts up against him desperately. Stiles has already come by the time Derek pulls away from the kiss, and he undoes his pants, dropping the blood and semen covered material to the floor.

 

"More, more. Now. _Now_ ," Stiles groans, thrusting his hips up shallowly.

 

"I know, babe," Derek murmurs, pressing a biting kiss to his shoulder before he drops to his knees.

 

Stiles lets out a strangled moan when Derek breathes on his cock. It's nothing compared to the sound he makes when Derek takes his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip firmly. Stiles gives a few shallow thrusts, coming again minutes later when Derek just hollows his cheeks and _sucks_.

 

He thrashes against the fence, his tail struggling to get out of the binds just as much as his wrists are, but he doesn't let Derek move, his cock already swelling again in his mouth as he thrusts as deep as he can in this position. He needs to fuck, to be fucked, but he can't let the warm body go. Not when blood is rushing through his veins, singing and burning and delicious. He needs more, more of everything he can give him, and Stiles moans something along those lines. Derek makes a noise in agreement, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. He uses his free hand to swipe at the sweat on Stiles' body before he slides it back past his perineum and presses against his hole. Stiles lets out a scream, ass squeezing and cock pouring down his throat desperately. Derek swallows every last drop of him, his finger slipping into his clenched ass in time with Stiles' continued thrusts, and Stiles never wants this moment to end.

 

He writhes against the fence when Derek pulls away from his temporarily flaccid cock, but goes quiet and still when he feels the bite against his thigh, vaguely recognises it as a claiming bite, and Stiles wants to do the same, heart pounding in his chest with his lover's blood thrumming through his veins.

 

"Der... Derek, I need you," he groans, licking his lips.

 

"I know, I'm here. What else do you need?" Derek murmurs against his hip bone, another claiming bite left behind on his pale skin.

 

"Need to mark you. Mine, you're mine, I need you to be mine," he breathes.

 

"Always," Derek murmurs, standing slowly, his finger still buried in Stiles, his body trembling around that one digit.

 

Stiles can hear Derek's heartbeat, steady and firm as usual, and knows this isn't a mistake. It's what they both need, and Stiles doesn't hesitate when he sinks his fangs into Derek's neck. As a werewolf, the mark doesn't last long, but it's still there when Stiles pulls away a few seconds later, and he feels a little less desperate and needy, like he's gained some of Derek's calmness along with his blood. He watches the mark fade before his eyes, but he _knows_ it's still there.

 

"Can I unchain you from the fence now? You need to get to a hospital," Derek murmurs against his neck.

 

"First, you're going to do something about _this_ ," Stiles replies, clenching his ass around Derek's finger. " _Then_ we can go to the hospital."

 

" _Priorities_ ," Derek murmurs, nuzzling against him.

 

"Damn straight. Now, fuck me 'til I scream my mate's name," Stiles murmurs, nipping at his ear.

 

Something is set off inside Derek when he hears Stiles call him his mate, and suddenly he's two fingers deep in his lover, his _mate_ , and lets out a small snarl, desperate and needy and whining.

 

" _Say it again._ "

 

"What?" Stiles asks, feigning ignorance. "That you're my mate? That my mate's going to fuck me hard, my mate's going to look after me, and my mate knows just what I need? _My_ _mate_ ," he breathes heavily, hitching his hips back against Derek's fingers the best he can.

 

Derek fucks him three fingers wide, wants to bury his cock in Stiles ass, but they can't at this angle, not without him stopping to get him off the fence, and right now, neither of them want that.

 

"Mate-mate-mate-mate," Stiles chants with each thrust, and when he comes, he screams Derek's name like it's a promise, and Derek drops to his knees to drink him down.

 

When Stiles has healed, he's going to fuck him like he deserves, like _his mate_ deserves, Derek promises himself, licking the last drops off his cock with a wide tongue. When Stiles seems spent, hanging against the fence loosely, Derek stands and carefully undoes the chains and zip ties that have him and his tail pinned. Stiles groans as his arms flop forward, winces when he sees the blood that's trailed down his arms. Derek pulls his pants back on gently, trying not to irritate Stiles' raw ankles as well.

 

"Don't you faint on me, Stiles," Derek murmurs, holding him close as he carefully carries Stiles out of the broken glass.

 

"You're already carrying me, I can faint if I want," Stiles mumbles against his chest. "God, that's more than I wanted to see of Parrish. Please tell me my dad's not here?"

 

"He's out by the fence. Seems he's rung the hospital, an ambulance is on the way. Smart man, he stayed in the car and I think the pheromones might've bypassed him."

 

"Can you check before my eyes are soiled?" Stiles groans with a wince.

 

"You'd rather my eyes were soiled?"

 

"Yes."

 

Derek laughs softly, but agrees and tells Stiles to close his eyes as they approach the police cruiser. The Sheriff looks a little pale, like he's heard things in the last twenty minutes that he never wanted to hear, but is otherwise fine.

 

"Can I open my eyes now?" Stiles asks warily.

 

"It might be a good idea to at least _look_ conscious when the paramedics arrive, Stiles. I'm glad you're okay," his father says gratefully, reaching out like he wants to squeeze his shoulder, but then he sees the blood on his arms and reconsiders.

 

"What happened to the people that kidnapped me?" Stiles asks.

 

"Pretty sure Scott and Kira took one the woman inside the warehouse, and Liam and Malia got the man outside."

 

"What about the third one? There were two guys," Stiles says, frowning.

 

"I have him in the back of my cruiser, actually. He's unconscious for the moment. It seems he ran into my car. Three times," the Sheriff adds with a slight cough.

 

"Pops, you're going to be in trouble for that."

 

"He kidnapped my son. I'll live with the consequences," he replies firmly.

 

An ambulance drives up the old asphalt road, lights flashing and siren blaring.

 

"Hey, I get the sirens! Cool," Stiles says with a laugh.

 

Derek can't answer because the paramedics are rushing over, getting a stretcher out, checking Stiles' pulse and eyes, doing a hundred things at once. Derek watches them both carefully, even as Stiles jokes about getting the good drugs, and he frowns slightly when Stiles' tail accidentally brushes up against one of the paramedics (Carl, according to the friendly greeting he received from both Stiles and the Sheriff). Carl moves the tail like he can actually see it, notices that Derek's staring and gives him a purple-eyed wink before continuing to treat Stiles. The Sheriff says he'll follow in the car, and Derek gets to ride in the back of the ambulance with Stiles. He's chattering away as normal, words slowing as the drugs take effect, and Carl grins at Derek when Stiles mumbles something about candy floss. Stiles is asleep by the time they reach the hospital.

 

...

 

"Derek, if you don't stop treating me like fragile glass, I'm going to throw an actual fragile glass at you!"

 

"I'm not treating you like glass, I'm waiting for you to get better," Derek replies calmly.

 

"I'm better! Look, I can even twirl my wrists and ankles! C'mon, I'm 110% better!"

 

"You're 85% better, if that, Stiles, and don't think I didn't see that grimace of pain. Until you're deemed fit by your doctor and my nose, you're not getting anything other than blow jobs and hand jobs."

 

"Ughh, fuck; _why?_ " Stiles moans.

 

"Because I made a promise to myself to fuck you the way a mate deserves to be fucked, and that means you **need** to be 110% better," Derek replies, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

Stiles blinks, speechless for a moment, and his tail brushes up against his shoulder eagerly. He licks his lips and moves his tail so it's wrapped around his waist. "All right. I can wait for that," Stiles breathes, though he sounds a little shaky. "Just what is involved in a fuck worthy of a mate?" he asks, eyes blown wide.

 

Derek hides a grin, feels it tugging at the side of his lips, and turns his attention back to his book. "You'll have to wait and find out."

 

Stiles lets out a groan of frustration. "You can't just tease me like that! I need to know. I need you to tell me. Thoroughly, in extensive detail. Every cock throb, every bite and breath. Please, Der-bear, please?" he begs, moving so he's sitting on Derek's lap.

 

Derek moves his arms so they're around Stiles' waist and continues to read. Stiles groans again when he realises Derek's not going to answer him, and shifts around until he can read the book as well, his head resting on Derek's shoulder. Stiles finds that he's content in a way that he hasn't felt in ages, sitting with his mate and just reading, and it's so unlike what most people would expect from an incubus, but for now, with Derek, it's more than enough for Stiles.

 

...

 

The end.

 

Thanks for reading!


End file.
